Winning's Losing
by pokeitlikejello
Summary: Cuddy stays late at the hospital and House bothers her. It goes on from there.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own House M.D. or the characters. I make no money from this.**  
Author's Note:** This is just an angsty oneshot fic exploring some House/Cuddy because I felt like it. It doesn't have anything to do with anything recent. It takes place about season 3/season 4.

* * *

She breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume on her favorite black sweater. She breathed out. She breathed in and her right hand twitched as it dangled alongside of her seated body. She breathed out.

Her head shifted slightly and her mouth opened as she breathed in. She breathed out as she lifted her head, her eyes focusing on the computer monitor on standby. She was at work. Her back ached and she straightened it, her hands covering her face as she breathed in.

"Hey."

She jumped nearly a mile as her hands lowered and her eyes flew open. They found him, rugged and slightly disheveled, as he sat across from her desk. She glared.

"You scared me."

He shrugged. "That happens."

"How long have you been sitting there?" she asked.

House cocked an eyebrow. "How long have you been asleep?"

"What do you want, House?" She frowned and looked at her watch. Nearly midnight.

"I'm not allowed to see Sleeping Beauty in action?" he replied.

Cuddy scooted her chair back and stood. She picked up a book from her desk and made her way over to her bookcase.

"What are you still doing here?" he said as she passed by the chair he was sitting in.

"Will you stop answering my questions with questions?" she responded and slid the book in the bookcase.

"Will you?" he shot back as she looked over at him.

She placed her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows at him. "What do you want?"

"That's still a question," House pointed out.

"I should go home," she announced as she made her way back over to her desk.

"It's almost midnight," he replied.

She shot him a look. "I _know_."

"What are you doing here?" He eyed her up. "I have a patient. You have...?"

Cuddy let out a sigh and sat back down at her desk. House raised his eyebrows.

"You gonna stay here all night?" he went on, wanting the truth from her.

"Yes." She nodded with a glare in his direction. "Yes, House. I'm going to stay in my office all night."

"You're telling me the truth and you're using sarcasm to hide it." House smirked. "This must be good."

He leaned back in his chair and propped his legs up on her desk. His hands went behind his head as he waited for her to tell him why she was here so late.

Cuddy went back to the paperwork on her desk, deciding to ignore him. House let his hands fall and he picked up his cane. He removed his feet from her desk and she glanced up, expecting him to go.

Instead, he leaned forward in the chair and began to knock items over on her desk. She sat up straighter and glared.

"House."

He gave a jab at the paper cup filled with the cold coffee she forgot she had. The lid popped off when it hit her desk and the dark liquid soaked the white sheets of paper as it swiftly made its way off the desk and into her lap.

"House!"

Cuddy stood and wiped at the wet spot on her charcoal skirt. House held back a smirk as he leaned back in his chair.

"Oops."

She glared at him again. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He shrugged as she made her way toward her bathroom. She entered and gave the door a push behind her, but it didn't close all the way. He could hear the sink running as he limped his way to the bathroom.

Gently, House pressed his fingertips against the wooden door, causing it to glide open. She was standing in front of the sink, trying to ease the coffee out with a damp wad of toilet paper.

"You should take it off," he said.

She ignored his remark as she continued to wipe her skirt, small scraps of wet toilet paper sticking to the fabric.

"Why are you here late?" he asked.

"You think I'm going to answer that now?" she replied. "You spilled coffee on me."

"Wouldn't have had to do that if you told me why you're here," House pointed out.

"Because I have work to do, House," she told him as she turned off the faucet. "Paperwork that's now soaked with coffee."

"Who's fault is that?" He cocked an eyebrow.

She locked eyes with him. "Yours."

"You're not being honest with me," he responded, holding her eye contact.

Cuddy tossed the toilet paper out and made her way from the bathroom, House stepping out of her way to let her through. She brushed at her skirt, trying to get the last bit of paper from it.

"Yeah, and when are you honest with me?" she mumbled and headed toward her desk.

His eyebrows drew together as he stepped back into her office. "What have you heard?"

She let out a sigh and locked eyes with him. His lips parted, about to speak, but nothing came out. She lowered her gaze and sat back down at her desk. He remained standing, eyes on her.

"What have you heard?" he repeated.

"Nothing," she answered simply.

Cuddy placed her palms over her eyes, her lips parting below them, as her elbows went to the top of her desk, avoiding the coffee spill. His eyes were still on her and suddenly, she looked so _broken_.

"Well..." House took a step toward the door. "I'm going."

"I can't go home," she said.

Cuddy lowered her hands and lifted her eyes to him. He was at the door, his back to her. He turned and eyed her up.

"And why not?" he asked.

"It, um..." She shook her head, straightening her spine. "You know, I don't want to tell you now."

"Then, why'd you bring it back up?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"You asked!" she tried to justify herself.

"I was leaving." He indicated the door.

"Well, then, go." She gave him permission with a wave of her hand.

House headed back toward her desk. "Well, now I'm interested."

She shook her head. "Forget it. Go."

"Your paperwork's covered in coffee, I'm waiting on calls about my patient, and there's a bar a few miles from here." He stopped in front of her desk and stared down at her. "Why don't we go?"

"So, you can be plastered when your team calls you?" Cuddy raised her eyebrows at him.

"If I let that stop me, I wouldn't be in half the time," he replied.

"Nice," she remarked and began to clean the coffee from her desk.

"Come on," he said.

"No," she immediately responded.

House took a step back from her desk, eyes still on her. "I'm going to Eddie's and I'm buying you a drink on the rocks. You should probably get there before the ice melts."

He turned and left her office without closing the door behind himself. Cuddy stopped cleaning and looked over the mess on her desk. She frowned and stood to her feet. She headed around her desk and quickly grabbed her coat on her way out.

* * *

House watched as she finished off the rest of her drink. She set the glass on the dampened cocktail napkin.

"You gonna tell me now?" he asked.

She brought her eyes over to him. "How many drinks have I had?"

"Four," he answered.

"No." She shook her head. "I'm not going to tell you."

"How many drinks will it take?" House replied.

"I don't know." She let out a quiet sigh and picked at the edge of the napkin.

He signaled to the bartender. "Another for both of us."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him. "House."

"What?" he responded. "I'm buying."

"Yeah, right," she agreed sarcastically.

"Hey, I'm a gentleman," he responded with a lift of his eyebrows.

"That's why your hand's on my ass," she commented and made eye contact with him.

"Oh. My bad."

House removed his hand from her backside, cursing that she finally called him on it. His hand was there for a good two minutes, which was definitely a record.

"Yeah." Cuddy drew in a breath. "I'm going to go."

"Back to your office." House gave a nod. "How long are you going to stay there? Days? Weeks?"

"No."

The bartender placed the drinks down and Cuddy picked hers up immediately. She took a drink from it as House watched.

"You should slow down," he warned.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Wouldn't want anyone to take advantage of you," House went on. "Especially if I get called away."

Cuddy eyed him up suspiciously for a second before reaching for the beer bottle he had been nursing. It was nearly full.

"You're not even drinking," she said, her eyebrows drawing together.

"I am, too," he replied and lifted a beer bottle with each hand. "Double fisting it."

"You're trying to get me drunk," she accused.

"Well, duh," he agreed, lifting his eyebrows.

"I'm going."

She stood from the stool and all the blood rushed to her head. Her hand went to her barstool to keep her standing as her mind adjusted to the change in position.

"You all right to drive or will you crash along the way?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

She walked toward the door, unsteady. House placed money on the bar for the drinks and went after her.

"I'll drive you."

Cuddy stopped and faced him. "No. You've been drinking."

"Not nearly as much as you, as you so nicely pointed out," he said.

She shook her head, but she knew he was right. She wasn't in any condition to drive.

"Fine," she gave in sharply.

Cuddy headed out the door, not holding it for him as she stepped into the cool air. House followed her out.

"Gonna tell me now?" he asked.

"No." She stopped in her tracks as her eyes fixated on the space he parked in. "You rode here on your motorcycle."

"That's why we're taking your car." He stepped up beside her. "Gimme your keys."

"No." Cuddy clutched onto her purse tighter.

"Don't make me take them from you," he warned.

"I don't want you driving in my car," she replied.

House lunged for her purse and she stepped away from him. She hurried to her car and he limped after her. She tripped in her heels and fell to the ground, tearing her pantyhose and scraping one of her palms.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed.

"That's what you get, you drunk," he told her and rubbed at his thigh, which was knotting up on him.

Once his muscle eased, he limped to her. She tossed her purse to him and he caught it with his free hand. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Need help standing?"

"No," she bitterly answered.

Cuddy forced herself up and looked to the knees that were dirty and drawing slight blood.

"Fuck," she cursed, her knees throbbing.

"That's a rarity coming from that mouth," he commented.

"Shut up." She sent a glare in his direction.

"Get in the car," he responded.

Cuddy half limped, half stumbled to the passenger side of the car. House got in on the driver's side and started the car. He began to drive, heading to the hospital, but he was partially distracted as Cuddy pulled off her pantyhose.

"Why were you getting me drunk?" she asked, looking over at him.

He shrugged. "It's funny."

"Well, I guess I deserve this," she replied. "I mean, iss my fault. I was trying to..."

House eyed her up. She wasn't talking to him, but staring straight ahead. Her hand was in her tussled hair and her other was in her lap, clutching the wad of dirty pantyhose.

"It's one of those... those days," she went on. "Nothing goes right. Christ." She gave a puff of a laugh. "I don't even believe in Christ."

"Why weren't you going home?" he said.

She lowered her head and stared down at her lap for a moment before bringing her eyes back over to him.

"Don't you ever just feel... _lonely_?"

He nodded, but his words were sarcastic. "Yeah, and staying in a dark hospital by myself makes me feel better."

She let out a sigh, disappointed in his response. "Shut up, House."

* * *

"Your limp's worse than mine." House stopped and looked back at her as she followed him through the Clinic.

Cuddy was hobbling along, holding on to the nurse's station to help support her since both knees were throbbing in pain.

"We're almost there," he added when she didn't respond.

House opened the exam room door and flicked on the light. She followed him in and made her way over to the exam table.

Cuddy hoisted herself up, the room swaying slightly. House gathered his supplies, took a seat on the stool, and wheeled himself to her.

"This might sting," he warned as he opened a bottle of antiseptic.

She flinched at the coldness of the antiseptic on her skin, not from the pain of it. Once he had cleaned both knees, he placed a bandage on each.

House brought his eyes up to meet hers. She bit her bottom lip.

"What about your palm?" he asked.

Drawing in a breath, Cuddy extended it out to him. There was dirt on it, mixed with a bit of dried blood. He cleaned it slowly, the air hitting the antiseptic making her hand cold. She shivered as goosebumps popped up over her skin.

House placed a bandage on the small scrape on her palm. He held her hand a little while longer, staring at her delicate skin before releasing her. He scooted away.

"House."

He looked to her, their eyes meeting again.

"Thank you," she said.

House raised his eyebrows as he stood to his feet. "For getting you drunk?"

"For patching me up," she clarified.

"Well, if I let you do it, I'm sure you'd have caused yourself some permanent damage somehow," he replied.

Cuddy slid from the exam table, still a bit unstable. "I should go home."

He took a limping step toward her. "You can't drive."

"I'll..." She thought a moment. "Call a cab."

"I can take you," he told her.

"No, House." Cuddy shook her head. "Take my car with you when you go home. Pick me up tomorrow and we'll get your bike."

House was about to protest when his cell phone rang. Cuddy's eyes went to his pocket before rising to his face.

"You should answer that," she said.

Cuddy headed out the door and House followed her, his phone still ringing. He grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"You're not taking a taxi."

She locked eyes with him. "Answer your phone."

"No," he responded.

"House, your patient comes first." She pulled her arm from his grasp.

His eyebrows drew together. "Since when?"

She kept her eyes locked with his. He let out a sigh and answered his phone. Cuddy placed her hands on her hips as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone. He gave a nod.

"Yeah. I'll be right there." He hung up his phone.

"I'm taking a taxi."

Cuddy turned and walked away. House watched her for a moment and then headed toward the elevators.

* * *

An hour later, he had diagnosed his patient. As he made his way into his office feeling a bit accomplished, he saw her keys on his desk and realized her house key was attached to her car keys.

House grabbed the keys and quickly headed from his office, picturing her sitting on her front porch alone. He slowed his pace when he remembered she had a spare key hidden. He picked up his pace again, however, when he thought that maybe, for whatever reason, she had removed her spare key from outside.

As House made his way toward the front doors of the hospital, he stopped outside of the Clinic. He pushed through the doors and made his way to Cuddy's office, wondering if perhaps she decided to stay. She was in there when he opened the door, curled up on her couch, asleep.

"Hey." He waited a moment before raising the volume of his voice. "Hey."

Cuddy opened her eyes and looked to the doorway. She sat up, the room shifting slightly.

"You sober enough to drive?"

She stood to her feet and the room swayed. House limped toward her and steadied her.

"Guess that's a no," he said.

"No," she argued. "I'm sober enough."

"You are not," House replied. "I'll take you home."

"It's okay," Cuddy assured him. "I'll just sleep here."

"No, I'll take you home," House insisted and jangled her keys in front of her. "Let's go."

"What about your patient?" she asked.

"Patient's fine," House answered. "It's already Saturday morning, Cuddy. Come on."

She took a step away from him. "Why do you care, House? Why do you give a shit about whether or not I sleep in my office tonight?"

"You're going to wake up tomorrow with a hangover," he stated. "If you want your staff to see you like that, then fine, stay here."

House turned and walked out of her office. Cuddy frowned and went after him. She stopped in her doorway.

"Hold on," she told his backside. "I'll take the ride."

* * *

Cuddy unlocked the front door and entered her home. She turned upon entrance, blocking him from following her inside.

"Goodnight, House," she said quickly and closed the door.

A frown set on his face and he knocked lightly on the door. "Cuddy."

"What?" she called out from the other side of the door.

"How am I suppose to get home?" he asked. "You have the keys."

Cuddy looked down at the keys in her hand before pulling open the door. She extended the keys out to him.

"Sorry."

House took them as he pushed his way into her home. She placed her hands to her hips as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"What are you doing?"

"I need a drink."

He limped his way down the hall and toward her kitchen. She let out a sigh and threw her front door closed. She went into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. She picked up the remote control and turned the television on.

House poured himself a glass of water and drank nearly all of it in one go. He hadn't realized just how thirsty he was. He popped a Vicodin in his mouth and finished off his water.

He set the glass in the sink and limped his way out of the kitchen. House entered into the living room to see her sitting on the couch, crying, as the opening of _The Mary Tyler Moore Show_ played on the television.

"Cuddy."

"I thought you were leaving," she said, eyes still fixated on the television.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, confused.

"I want to be Mary Tyler Moore," she answered.

House stared at her. "The actress?"

"The character," she clarified.

"I don't think that's what her name was on the show," House replied.

"Look at how happy she is." Cuddy indicated the television as Mary crossed her apartment.

His eyes were still on her. "You're not happy?"

"No," she responded. "I mean, yes. Wait—" She frowned and looked up at him. "I mean, I'm happy. I just... I haven't been feeling very well lately."

Now, he was curious. "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing, you know." She shook her head as she wiped the tears from her face. "There's nothing that's wrong, I've been feeling... alone. Lonely. Whatever. It's really nothing, House. You should go. I'll be fine."

"You don't have to be alone," he told her.

"Oh, no." She pointed a finger at him warningly. "No. You're not staying."

"Okay."

House turned and walked out of the room. Cuddy frowned, thinking it was too easy. After listening and not hearing the front door close, she climbed off of the couch and stepped out into the hall. She heard the clank of a glass in the kitchen.

She went to the kitchen to find him opening a bottle of wine. Cuddy crossed to him and yanked the bottle from his hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"You're drunk, I'm staying, I want to be drunk," he said. "And this is the only alcohol you have."

"I don't want you to stay," she harshly replied.

"You don't want to be alone," he reminded her.

"I'll be fine," she tried to assure him, but it wasn't very passable.

"Gonna drink that wine by yourself?" he asked.

She glared. "No."

"Come on, Cuddy." He took a step closer to her. "Live a little. You might as well. You're not gonna live forever."

House took the bottle out of her hand and poured a glass of wine. He reached into her cabinet and took another glass from it. He filled it with the wine and handed it over to her.

Cuddy took the glass from him, shaking her head, and sipped it as she walked out of the room. House smirked and carried both his glass and the bottle in one hand with his cane in the other.

Once back in the living room, he set the bottle down on the coffee table and sat beside her on the couch. She sipped from her glass again, eyes on the television.

House looked over at her. "How drunk we getting?"

"How drunk do you want to be?" she responded, cocking an eyebrow in his direction.

He reached over and clanked his glass against hers, almost sloshing the wine over the rim.

* * *

"It's your fault, you know," he spoke up over the television.

"Hm?"

Cuddy was nearly asleep on the couch and he was tipsy, but certainly not ready to fall asleep himself. They had been flipping through channels for the past hour, landing on random sitcoms and infomercials.

House was hoping that if he riled her up and pushed her buttons, she would stay awake with him longer.

"You did this to yourself," he went on. "It's your fault."

She looked over at him from her curled up position. "What are you going on about?"

"You being alone," he clarified for her. "It's your fault, Cuddy."

"Yeah," she gave in and let her eyes fall closed.

"No, I mean that," House insisted. "It is."

"Okay," she agreed.

"You're not—" He frowned. This wasn't working. He gave a nudge to her leg. "Hey."

"What, House?" she whined.

"If you wanted to be, you know, with someone, you could have," he told her. "Don't bitch about somethin' you could have changed. Or done different."

Her eyes flew back open and went to him. "You have no idea what I've done—"

"I know," he cut her off.

"Yeah?" She sat up straighter. "How? You don't know one thing about the relationsh—"

"Oh, shut up, Cuddy." House rolled his eyes. "Trying to defend yourself. It's pathetic."

"I'm going to def—" She shook her head, searching for a different phrase. "—to stand up for myself if I'm right."

"You're not," House replied. "You're down because you're all alone and lonely. Don't like it? Change it. I mean, look at you, you coulda had anyone, but you're so fucked up, you need to be alone."

"Are we talking about me or you, House?" she spat back.

"You, damn it," he said. "I mean, God, look at you. The clothes you wear to the hospital? Are you trying to pick someone up? You just look desperate."

Cuddy frowned at him. "I do not look—"

"You do," he insisted. "Too desperate. I don't mind the sight, but the message, Cuddy, the thing you're trying to say. It's funny to watch you, you know. Throwing yourself out there for no reason. No one's going to pick you up in the hospital. I mean, do you dress like that when you go out? Guys will think you just wanna lay and no commitment. That's what they see. That's what I see."

She stared at him, trying not to let her hurt show. "You really mean that? That's what you think?"

"Wouldn't have said it if I didn't think it," he responded.

"You're an asshole, House."

Cuddy stood up and walked out of the room. Her footsteps were quick down the hallway before the door slammed shut. House let out a sigh. He definitely took the wrong approach and he had never meant to make her this angry.

He stood from the couch and limped down the hallway. House stopped at her closed bedroom door and knocked.

"Cuddy." He tried the doorknob. Locked. "Look... I'm sorry, okay? It's the wine."

"You obviously were speaking what you believe is the truth, House," Cuddy's words slurred slightly. "Just... go away."

"What?" he asked. "You want me to drive home in your car?"

"Fine," she cried out, frustrated. "Sleep on the couch, whatever."

"Cuddy, come on." House slammed his palm against the door. "You're being ridiculous."

"You called me a whore," Cuddy drunkenly shouted back.

"I never used that word," he replied.

"You implied it," she said.

"I was..." He let out a sigh. "I was trying to get a rise out of you."

"It doesn't matter," she argued. "You still said it, so you thought of it. Even if you didn't—or _don't_ mean it, you still thought it up and said it to me, House."

"God, Cuddy, you're—" House lowered his hand from the door. "You should not drink."

"Neither should you," she shot back.

"I'm not leaving from your door until you let me see you," he told her.

"Why?" Cuddy asked, planting her hands to her hips, her eyes on the door.

"So, I can see if you're all right," he responded, his tone growing annoyed once again.

"I'm perfectly fucking fine," she snapped back as she approached the door. "Go. Away."

"No," he refused. "Not until you unlock the door."

Cuddy walked away from the door, her knees hurting. "No."

"Fine."

House took a step back and leaned against the wall. He could hear her shuffling around inside her bedroom. He tapped his cane a few times before speaking up.

"I'm still right here."

Cuddy flopped down on her bed. "Don't care."

House let out a sigh. He needed a new tactic. He thought a moment before singing quietly.

"Who can turn the world on with her smile?"

"Oh, brother." She rolled her eyes.

"Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?" he continued singing the theme song to _The Mary Tyler Moore Show_. "Well, it's you, Cuddy, and you should know it—"

"You can't be serious," she called out to him.

He raised his volume, "with each glance and every little movement, you show it. Love is all around, Cuddy, no need to waste it."

"House, shut up," she groaned.

"You can have the town, why don't you take it?" He gave a few taps on the door with his cane.

"You're gonna make it after all."

"Go away, dammit!" Cuddy shouted.

House closed his mouth, his brain racking for a different tactic. He wanted to win this match against her. He began down the hallway, hoping to get a new idea that would get her to open the door.

As he passed through the living room, a pain pulsed in his right thigh. House let out a cry, his leg giving out on him. He fell to the ground and clutched at his thigh.

Cuddy unlocked her bedroom door and opened it. She looked down the hall, but didn't see House. She heard the rattle of his pill bottle.

"Are you okay?" she asked, but her tone was still angry.

"Yeah, just give me a moment to pick myself up from the floor," he called back.

She headed down the hallway and stood in the doorway. He was sitting up, a hand still on his right thigh as he placed his Vicodin bottle back in his pocket.

"Gonna give me a hand?" House looked up at her.

Cuddy folded her arms over her chest. "No."

"Thanks," he replied as he shot her a glare.

House forced himself to his feet, careful of his right side. He limped heavily to the couch and sat down. Cuddy remained in the doorway, her eyes on him. After a moment, she turned and walked away. He looked to the empty doorway, wondering if he had won.

He turned back to the television and picked up the remote. House began to flip through the channels, but he stopped when Cuddy entered back into the room. She threw a blanket at him and walked right back out of the room.

House let out a sigh and turned the television off. He set the remote control down and pushed the blanket off of himself. He stood to his feet and left the room.

Cuddy's bedroom door was slightly open and House limped up to it. He peered into the room, careful not to push the door too far open. Cuddy was in bed, her back to him.

"Cuddy?"

She opened her eyes and sighed loudly, making sure he knew she was annoyed.

"What?" she said.

"I am sorry," he told her.

"You are not," she bitterly shot back.

"All right." House nodded. "Fine."

He turned and limped away. Cuddy frowned and sat up. She was still drunk and stumbled slightly as she climbed out of bed. He was up to something, he had to be, and she was going to find out what.

She could hear him in the kitchen and she quickly made her way there. Cuddy stopped in the doorway as she saw House pulling a bag of baked potato chips from the cabinet. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm _hungry_," he answered with attitude. "You have a problem with that?"

"And then you're going to bed?" she asked.

"No, I'm taking your car for a spin," he responded. "Drunk."

Cuddy was still unsure if she could trust that he wasn't going to bother her or mess around with her things, but she didn't want to wait around to see. She was growing increasingly tired and the wine she drank wasn't helping her stay awake any.

She headed from the room and went to her bedroom. She got back into bed and remained awake on her back, listening for any sound that signaled House was up to no good. Her eyes closed shut as she began to fall asleep.

A loud crunching sound started from outside her bedroom door. Cuddy's eyes flew open.

"House!"

There was no response, only more crunching. Cuddy threw her covers off harshly and scrambled out of bed. She winced slightly at the pain in the knees as she hurried to the door. She pulled it open to see House standing there, leaning against the wall, and eating chips.

Cuddy made eye contact with him. "What. The fuck."

He shrugged. "Didn't want to get crumbs on your couch."

"Why not eat them in the kitchen?" she suggested.

"Kitchen's boring," he replied.

"And the hallway's not?" she hissed, raising her eyebrows.

House shoved a few more chips in his mouth and chewed them loudly. Cuddy glared at him.

"You can eat the chips on the couch," she said. "And then go to bed, so I can go to bed, so we can wake up and get your motorcycle, and I can go home and enjoy my weekend without you."

"I thought you didn't want to be alone," he brought the issue back up.

"I do, okay?" She shook her head. "And even if I didn't, it's better than being with you, House."

"Now, you're just trying to hurt my feelings." He chomped on more chips.

"You hurt mine," Cuddy responded.

"I said _trying_," he corrected her assumption. "You didn't hurt my feelings."

Her eyes diverted to the floor. "Oh."

She turned and went back into her bedroom. House followed her in and watched as she sat down on her bed. He took a seat next to her and extended the bag of chips in her direction.

"Want some?"

Cuddy shook her head. House set the potato chip bag to the floor and wiped his hands on his jeans. He looked over at her.

"Cuddy."

"What?" she replied quietly, eyes still on the floor.

"Cuddy," he repeated.

"Don't," she said. "Just go to bed, House."

"Cuddy," he tried for a third time.

She brought her eyes, shining slightly with tears, to him. "What?!"

House pressed his lips together, observing her. He stood to his feet.

"Goodnight, Cuddy."

He limped out of her bedroom. Cuddy wiped at her eyes and climbed underneath her bed covers. She got settled and closed her eyes.

The front door slammed closed and Cuddy's eyes flew back open. She threw off her covers and got back out of bed. She hurried down the hallway and opened the front door.

House was climbing into the driver's side of her car. Cuddy hurried down her porch as House started her car. She reached the car and yanked open the door.

"Get back inside," she commanded.

"I'm going home," he told her.

"You're drunk," she said.

"_You're_ drunk," he replied.

Cuddy frowned. "You had several glasses of wine—"

"That doesn't mean I'm drunk," House cut her off. "I'm not a lightweight like you, Cuddy."

"I am not—" She shook her head. "Just... get out of my car."

"No," he responded. "You don't want me here, I'm going home."

"You're being childish and ridiculous, House," Cuddy accused. "It's after four in the morning."

"You should be asleep." He tried to pull the door closed, but she stood in the way.

"I would be if I thought I could go to sleep without you being crazy and irresponsible!" she shouted.

House shrugged. "Then, maybe you shouldn't go to sleep."

"Or maybe you should," she snapped back. "Or become responsible. Or care about other people and their feelings. Why are you doing this? Why are you torturing me? I confide in you about things that I didn't even really want to talk about and you use it against me. I can't—" She drew in a breath. "You know what? Fine, go. Drive and crash and die, House, because I don't care."

She slammed the car door shut and stormed back into her home. House turned off her car and opened the door. He climbed out and limped to her front door. It was locked.

"Cuddy." He knocked on the door. "Cuddy, let me in."

"You make my life a living hell, House," she said from the other side of the door.

"I was trying to get your mind off of things," House told her. "It seems to have backfired."

"You think?" she replied.

"If I promise that I will never try to make you feel better ever again, will you let me in?" he asked her.

She opened the door and took a step back. House entered and Cuddy closed the door behind him, locking it as well. She waited there until he turned and made eye contact.

"Why do you do this?" Her voice was quiet. "And why to me?"

"Because I'm miserable." His voice was just as quiet as hers. "Because I hate seeing you okay with your life, and when I can find a time to pounce on you, I take it. Because it makes me feel better."

Cuddy shook her head, but it seemed to pacify her enough. She moved past him and went into her bedroom, shutting the door behind herself.

House remained in the hallway. He said those words to make her believe he was being honest with her. He wanted her to feel sorry for him, to pity him, because he knew he could get away with everything if he received that reaction from her.

But, his words weren't completely true and they were missing other thoughts and feelings.

He was miserable, for the most part, and he did sometimes hate seeing her content with herself and her life, but it never made him feel better when he made her miserable. It only ever made him feel worse, but he found stopping himself from hurting her was always inevitable.

House let out a sigh and headed for the living room to get a bit of sleep before they would go get his motorcycle and forget this entire night ever took place.


End file.
